


Jaskier Will Build the Pyre

by Aylarain



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But there's a lot of sweet moments along the way, Established Relationship, Jaskier will take care of his Witcher, M/M, So Geralt Dies, Some sexy moments too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylarain/pseuds/Aylarain
Summary: Geralt has spent the better part of two decades preparing Jaskier for this moment.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 167





	Jaskier Will Build the Pyre

**Author's Note:**

> If it's not clear, the italics are set back in time. The show time jumps, so I figured why not.
> 
> My apologies in advance if I mess up any Witcher lore.

Geralt has spent the better part of two decades preparing Jaskier for this moment.

And yet Jaskier cannot believe they are here.

That he is here and any moment now Geralt will not be.

_“Witchers do not die in their beds Bard,” Geralt says abruptly one night._

_To say Jaskier is taken aback would be an understatement given his thighs are still slick with the oil Geralt used before he thrust between them. Geralt's chest is hot against his back and Jaskier is still hard in his hand._

_“Yes, and I’m sure many a bard has been found lying face down in the street outside of a tavern door at first light robbed of his coin and his life,” he retorts with a measure of disbelief in his tone because they cannot possibly be talking about this now.._

_He turns to arrange himself on his back to get a better look at Geralt’s face. For all that Geralt lacks with his words, Jaskier could fill entire songbooks dedicated to the meaning of the set of his jaw or the line of his brow. Jaskier finds Geralt to be strikingly expressive once you learn what to look for and Jaskier has studied with great enthusiasm these past 6 years._

_“Jask, I’m trying…. Fuck-”_

_“I know! Ok? I know and I’m here. I’m still going to be here you absolute brute! So please, can you put your mouth to better use.” He tugs at a fistful of silver white hair, making emphatically clear the direction he wishes Geralt to go._

_“Hmm,” Geralt grunts just before his tongue licks out and begins to mark its path down Jaskier’s body. Lips wrap around his cock and Jaskier feels the warmth of Geralt's mouth melt the ice frozen in his veins at the mention of Geralt’s mortality._

_There’s no place for fear on Geralt's path._

Jaskier saw the spray of blood after the monster’s claws dug through Geralt’s belly. He saw the moment the Witcher faltered only to renew the fight with that much more vigor. As if he knew he needed to finish it and finish it quickly. He didn’t have the time.

It wasn’t until the monster’s head was separated from its body that Geralt fell to his knees. Jaskier stood frozen for just a moment too long as Geralt pitched sideways to the ground.

Jaskier has wrapped every piece of cloth he has around Geralt, but the blood soaks through and seeps between Jaskier’s fingers. There’s no healer, no mage. There’s nothing out here in the cold, dark forest to piece Geralt’s insides back together.

"Jas… Jaskier stop,” Geralt tries to reach for Jaskier, but his movements are clumsy. There’s a terrible gurgling and Jaskier has to bite down on his own tongue to stop the cry of anguish at the sight of blood dribbling from Geralt’s mouth.

"What? No! Just let me try…" he trails off leaving it unfinished. There's nothing to try. They both know what is happening here. Geralt's slow beating heart will soon catch up to the fatal wound in his gut.

_“Hmmmm,” Geralt is practically purring under Jaskier’s ministrations in the tub._

_They’re pressed together, back to front, with Geralt sat between Jaskier’s legs in the tub. It’s a tight squeeze, but all the better for it. Skin to skin, his toes moving up and down Geralt’s strong calves, it’s enough to chase away the chill that took up residence in Jaskier’s bones after Geralt’s earlier hunt._

_It was just exhaustion that had Geralt floating in the swamp, an arm’s length away from the dead kikimore. Exhaustion that made him slow to rise for too many of Jaskier’s heartbeats._

_Geralt’s hair has been clean for minutes now, but Jaskier continues to massage along Geralt’s scalp. He presses his thumbs into the firm muscles of his shoulders and digs his fingertips into his upper back. He tightens his thighs around Geralt’s waist and feels Geralt’s hand curl around his ankle._

_"Next time you stay at the tavern like I told you. Kikimore are dangerous -"_

_"I believe the words you're searching for are 'thank you Jaskier, that feels marvelous Jaskier. I'm so glad you were there for me to lean my considerable heft against on the long and arduous trek back through dark and treacherous swampland to Roach, Jaskier," ending his speech with his mouth pressed to Geralt’s skin to finish this nonsense._

_He mouths his path down Geralt’s neck, dragging his teeth across his shoulders hard enough to redden the pale skin. Geralt is remarkably responsive to being marked. He’ll help the Witcher out of the tub and thoroughly enjoy the complete rub down he’ll give him to get him dry._

_Jaskier is far from oblivious or ignorant of the danger he has routinely found himself in over the last 11 years. He simply is choosing to live in this moment where Geralt is curled around his body, head of silver white hair using Jaskier as a pillow. The contented rumbles coming from the muscled chest pressed firmly against his side lulling him to sleep._

"Safe," Geralt rasps, this time he succeeds in getting his hand on top of Jaskier's, attempting to pull it away from the mound of fabric Jaskier is trying to use to stop the bleeding. "Safe," he repeats, it's wet and garbled and his next breath is more of a shudder than an intake of air. He's tugging more insistently until Jaskier finally relinquishes his hold and takes Geralt's hand in his. Pressing his lips to Geralt’s knuckles to hide the sob that won’t stay in his chest.

"I am,” he starts and stops to take a breath. He has to let Geralt go with this absolution and he cannot fumble. “I will be, I promise, I will."

It sounds more tearful than Jaskier wants, but fuck everything he is trying.

“Thought I’d be alone,” Geralt murmurs and it's hardly more audible than a whisper. His hand tightens fractionally around Jaskier’s. There's nothing of the strength Jaskier has felt when Geralt clutches at his hips. His grip is weak and it’s this that almost breaks Jaskier.

But he won’t. He will be strong for however many more moments Geralt needs him to be. His eyes are unfocused and Jaskier doesn’t think Geralt can see him anymore, but he makes sure to stay in his line of sight.

The hand in his goes lax.

The chest he’s half lying on stills.

The only thing he can hear is the thud of his own heart when the ragged breaths cease.

_“Fire,” Geralt says suddenly, catching Jaskier’s attention across their small camp._

_“Yes, you are an excellent campfire builder. Perhaps I shall compose a jig to flames dancing in the night sky, born of your talented hand,” Jaskier jests._

_“No,” and there’s a pause while Geralt swallows and suddenly Jaskier is nervous. Normally speaking, if Geralt is nervous there is good reason for Jaskier to be as well. “When I go... if you’re there... fire will make sure there’s nothing left... to be used.”_

_Any attempt at a response is caught in his throat as understanding dawns upon Jaskier. The myth and legend of the Witcher combined with the superstitious nature of the people along with those magically inclined... well, Jaskier doesn’t even want to think about what they would do with the body. He swallows once, twice, a third time, before he’s able to give voice to words, simple and utterly lacking in his usual verbose charm._

_“Right. Fire. Ok.”_

_He folds and unfolds his bedroll, smoothing the fabric over and over again until a larger hand stops his pass._

_“If you’re there Jaskier… ,” Geralt looks away and his grip tightens enough that Jaskier would wince if he thought it wouldn't send the Witcher away._

_Geralt does not, perhaps cannot, continue, but Jaskier doesn’t need the man’s words. It’s perfectly clear in the tight lacing of their fingers and Jaskier has 17 years of observation dedicated to Geralt’s actions._

_“I will write a ballad that will bring grown men to their knees and make ladies weep when I sing the farewell to the Witcher,” he says softly with a bright smile, ducks his head to hide the shine in his eyes. “Of his final act of heroism protecting the most extraordinary bard to ever grace this land.”_

_This is a certainty Jaskier would, and does, bet his life on._

_A whispered endearment could never mean as much as the growl Jaskier can pull from Geralt when he twirls his tongue just so. A nod from Geralt, a slight upturn of his mouth, across a rowdy tavern after a performance is stronger than any verbal declaration of love._

_Jaskier is drowning beneath the weight of Geralt's devotion as the larger man presses him down onto the bedroll._

He’s going to have to get up. He will build the pyre and set the flame. Jaskier will smash the bones and cast the ashes as far and wide as the winds will blow. There will be nothing left of his Witcher for anyone to use. Geralt will have his peace.

Yen will come soon. The djinn forged bond linked them too strongly for her not to know. The Mage will destroy the swords, medallion, anything that does not burn.

The dozen or so times he's shared Geralt with her over the years has softened his original opinion of the sorceress.

Maybe she will take him to Ciri. They’ll tell her together. Perhaps.

But for now, just a few moments longer, he’ll stay. Card his hand through silver white hair and rest his body along Geralt’s side. He’ll savor the weight of the arm he pulls over his shoulder. If he can block out the smell of iron it’s almost like any other of a thousand nights he’s spent under the stars with Geralt.

Just for a few moments longer.

**Author's Note:**

> All of those times you want to use 20 words, but you only need 5, Jaskier is your man.


End file.
